The Awakening
Wake up. “Ngh…” Wakeupwakeupwakeup. The hushed, mottled whispers flooded his ears like a dam opening in multiple voices. His head turned slowly, stiffly with his eyes closed like a statue coming to life. Rigid muscle trembled, a small quake of fleshy stone coming to life, a statue pulled from it’s dormancy, lured by the whispers that seemed to come from all around him.
He felt heavy as he rocked forward, and the lifting of his hands to his face explained why. The slow movement rattled chains, the metallic scrape against stone that had his eyes peeling back. It took a moment for his vision to clear from decades of slumber, a slow blinking as he looked down to the thick coils of material wound around him. Criss-crossed around his torso to his hips, he turned his hands back and forth to the shackles around his wrists. Every chain connected to the floor, and when he reached for their ends, the brackets were coated in the same material as the floor. Nearly black and smooth to the touch, molted over the metal. Insurance.
Looking down, his teeth clenched and grit in a scrape that made his jaw sing. That explains a lot… The reason for his sore stiffness resulted from his position, on his knees and sat back on his ankles. Aware of his own circumstance, but the fog of his mind hadn’t cleared enough to let his memory through, his eyes lifted to his surroundings. Climbing walls of rock, rising from the ground in thick columns. Layers upon layers, like a crystal. He recognized it’s structure. Basalt. The dark material, in all it’s raw glory, created by molten lava cooled quickly. It should’ve been beautiful, but it felt stifling as confusion struck him. He was surrounded by it on all sides, and one look to the ceiling said he was confined in it. Spacious, almost too much space for someone who could move.
He tried. The almost unbearable silence broken by the echoing rattle of his chains, the strained grunts as he tried to pull them from the floor, tried to break them. He tried to climb to his feet but the weight of the heavy chains accompanied by the restricted lengths only made him collapse into a kneel. His rapid breathing flared his nostrils as his teeth bared, cheek muscles trembling in anger as he let out a bellowing roar that made his own ears ring as he struggled. Writhed. Pulled until his muscles were taut with tension, trembling from his efforts to break free.
He tried to change, to become true in form but it was like flipping the switch to an unplugged lamp. He could click it as much as he wanted to, but no power came. Snuffed out by some unseen aura inhibiting him. Stuck in this humanoid form, he was just that. Stuck. Trapped. Caged.
“Imprisoned.”
His knees truck the floor as his dark eyes snapped forward, an intense stare directed to a mirror image of himself. Moderately tall, toned with corded muscle and a square jawline. Dramatic lines of brow that collected in the middle in a permanent brood, shadowing piercing eyes staring back at him. The only difference was the maniacal grin that contorted his face into malevolence. “You’re -- we’re -- imprisoned.” The voice was soft, but rough. Grating in it’s depth that carried with the echo in the built citadel.
His own was rougher, dry from having not been used in… “How long has it been?” He rasped in a whisper, as much as he could manage in the moment. His brows managed to drape lower, nearly touching in the middle.
“Three hundred, seventy four years. Exactly.” His mirror reflection answered for him, receiving a hard stare from himself. “Don’t give me that look. You know exactly who I am,” the reflection leaned forward, his own chains scraping and rattling in the motion’s wake. “You… do remember who we are…”
He had to think about it, his eyes leaving his replica as his eyes ticked but he didn’t see what they were looking at. He was trying to remember what had happened, why he was here. Do I remember who I a-- “Nyctelios,” he muttered, the name coming to him like he’d been told from someone else.
“There it is,” the replica chuckled, tipping back to settle. He seemed much more comfortable than the original. “And why are we here?” His brows soared, just as dramatic in reverse as his hands lifted, rolling in a waiting gesture. His head turned, tilted to give an ear.
“I don’t --” Nyctelios seethed through his teeth, a hiss, “I don’t remember.”
“Alright, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s clear that fog,” he tapped his temple, staring at the Real one. “You know who are -- but what… did you.. do.”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as his hands lifted, palms to the sides of his head. “I don’t remember!” He bellowed, frustration making him tremble.
“What did you do, Nyctelios?” A bland, monotone sound coming from the replica, a bored expression crossing his features.
Wake up. “Ngh…” Wakeupwakeupwakeup. The hushed, mottled whispers flooded his ears like a dam opening in multiple voices. His head turned slowly, stiffly with his eyes closed like a statue coming to life. Rigid muscle trembled, a small quake of fleshy stone coming to life, a statue pulled from it’s dormancy, lured by the whispers that seemed to come from all around him.
He felt heavy as he rocked forward, and the lifting of his hands to his face explained why. The slow movement rattled chains, the metallic scrape against stone that had his eyes peeling back. It took a moment for his vision to clear from decades of slumber, a slow blinking as he looked down to the thick coils of material wound around him. Criss-crossed around his torso to his hips, he turned his hands back and forth to the shackles around his wrists. Every chain connected to the floor, and when he reached for their ends, the brackets were coated in the same material as the floor. Nearly black and smooth to the touch, molted over the metal. Insurance.
Looking down, his teeth clenched and grit in a scrape that made his jaw sing. That explains a lot… The reason for his sore stiffness resulted from his position, on his knees and sat back on his ankles. Aware of his own circumstance, but the fog of his mind hadn’t cleared enough to let his memory through, his eyes lifted to his surroundings. Climbing walls of rock, rising from the ground in thick columns. Layers upon layers, like a crystal. He recognized it’s structure. Basalt. The dark material, in all it’s raw glory, created by molten lava cooled quickly. It should’ve been beautiful, but it felt stifling as confusion struck him. He was surrounded by it on all sides, and one look to the ceiling said he was confined in it. Spacious, almost too much space for someone who could move.
He tried. The almost unbearable silence broken by the echoing rattle of his chains, the strained grunts as he tried to pull them from the floor, tried to break them. He tried to climb to his feet but the weight of the heavy chains accompanied by the restricted lengths only made him collapse into a kneel. His rapid breathing flared his nostrils as his teeth bared, cheek muscles trembling in anger as he let out a bellowing roar that made his own ears ring as he struggled. Writhed. Pulled until his muscles were taut with tension, trembling from his efforts to break free.
He tried to change, to become true in form but it was like flipping the switch to an unplugged lamp. He could click it as much as he wanted to, but no power came. Snuffed out by some unseen aura inhibiting him. Stuck in this humanoid form, he was just that. Stuck. Trapped. Caged.
“Imprisoned.”
His knees truck the floor as his dark eyes snapped forward, an intense stare directed to a mirror image of himself. Moderately tall, toned with corded muscle and a square jawline. Dramatic lines of brow that collected in the middle in a permanent brood, shadowing piercing eyes staring back at him. The only difference was the maniacal grin that contorted his face into malevolence. “You’re -- we’re -- imprisoned.” The voice was soft, but rough. Grating in it’s depth that carried with the echo in the built citadel.
His own was rougher, dry from having not been used in… “How long has it been?” He rasped in a whisper, as much as he could manage in the moment. His brows managed to drape lower, nearly touching in the middle.
“Three hundred, seventy four years. Exactly.” His mirror reflection answered for him, receiving a hard stare from himself. “Don’t give me that look. You know exactly who I am,” the reflection leaned forward, his own chains scraping and rattling in the motion’s wake. “You… do remember who we are…”
He had to think about it, his eyes leaving his replica as his eyes ticked but he didn’t see what they were looking at. He was trying to remember what had happened, why he was here. Do I remember who I a-- “Nyctelios,” he muttered, the name coming to him like he’d been told from someone else.
“There it is,” the replica chuckled, tipping back to settle. He seemed much more comfortable than the original. “And why are we here?” His brows soared, just as dramatic in reverse as his hands lifted, rolling in a waiting gesture. His head turned, tilted to give an ear.
“I don’t --” Nyctelios seethed through his teeth, a hiss, “I don’t remember.”
“Alright, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s clear that fog,” he tapped his temple, staring at the Real one. “You know who are -- but what… did you.. do.”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as his hands lifted, palms to the sides of his head. “I don’t remember!” He bellowed, frustration making him tremble.
“What did you do, Nyctelios?” A bland, monotone sound coming from the replica, a bored expression crossing his features.